


A Captive King

by Thisismecoping



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bondage, Dark Dany, F/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Not Beta Read, Smut, Tyrion and Varys don't have the morals of a 21st century pacifist, i don't know how to use tags, more like reasonable ruthlessness for the time and place she lives in Dany, not really - Freeform, season 7, very mild
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-05-12 17:58:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19234246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thisismecoping/pseuds/Thisismecoping
Summary: After arriving in Westeros Daenerys immediately attacks and conquers King's Landing with relative ease. Jon Snow arrives hoping to find allies against the army of the dead but instead finds a Queen that has little time or patience for those standing in between her and her goals.AKA Dany takes Jon captive when he refuses to bend the knee. Mostly plotless smut.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta read, so forgive any mistakes you might find that I have missed. Or feel free to yell at me about them in the comments. 
> 
> This is almost a soft reboot of my other story, but taking place in an alternate universe where so I don't have to deal with the clusterfuck that was season 8. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

The air was dry, dusty, uncomfortably warm and smelled of smoke and fire. 

 

Jon had heard stories about King’s Landing. He had read books from Winterfell’s library, learned lessons from Maester Luwin about the cities founding and history. But as a bastard boy of a Northern Lord that called home a thousand miles away he never thought he would ever see the city with his own eyes. It was nothing like he had imagined. 

 

Where were the mountains and the forests? The sprawling city of smallfolk who lived outside the capital’s walls? Even Winterfell had Wintertown, but here there was little more than parched desolate dirt, more fitting for what he had read about the deserts of Dorne than the coastal capital he had always been told was lush and full of life. 

 

A scattering of caravans and people filtered in and out what remained of the city gates. Traders and merchants, people looking for work or food or shelter. Soldiers and sellswords, farmers and fishermen. Rich and poor. 

 

Where once stood the gateway to the capital of the Seven Kingdoms now lay a pile of burnt rock and rubble. Half melted bricks scattered around scourged earth. The Dragon Queen had arrived in Westeros and had brought with her fire and blood. 

 

He fell in line with the crowd of people and went unnoticed, another face in a countless sea of men and women. Fortunately, inside the gates had fared better than outside and a bustling city awaited him, its streets alive with people. Merchants hocked their wares, men and women bustled through the alleyways. But the scent of burnt wood and ash still lingered in the air. 

 

On every street corner two guards stood, tanned men clad in leather armor carrying shield, spear and sword, the Unsullied. He had read about those too as a child, never in his life had the thought he would see them either. 

 

He moved forward, not letting himself linger as he made his way alone towards the Red Keep. He had come to King’s Landing for a reason. On invitation from Tyrion Lannister and with the hope to secure an alliance with the Queen against the looming threat in the North. If not that then the chance to mine the dragonglass on her island of Dragonstone. 

 

She had a reputation, she had rolled through most of the free cities, freeing slaves, burning cities, killing men. She was said to be as ruthless as she was beautiful. The Lords of North had begged him not to come, but it had to be done, so he would do it and he would do it alone. He had refused an armed escort when the Northern Lords had demanded it. He had left Davos and Ghost in the North where they would be safe. 

 

“The bastard of Winterfell,” Tyrion's voice filtered through the crowd. 

 

Jon turned to see the dwarf sitting, half perched on a waist-high wall with a skin of wine in his hand. He smiled and wondered how he had managed to find him in the sea of people, how he had even known he had arrived. “The dwarf of Casterly Rock.” 

 

Tyrion smiled back, slipped off the wall and offered his hand to his old friend.

 

“It’s good to see you,” Jon said. 

 

“And you.”

 

Jon looked up at the buildings that surrounded him and took in the city. “Never thought we’d meet you again, let alone here of all places.” 

 

Tyrion smirked and turned to lead Jon towards the Red Keep, four Unsullied followed them. 

 

“Yes, it’s been a very strange few years. You will have to do tell me how Ned Stark’s bastard went from Night’s Watch recruit to Lord Commander, to King in the North.” 

 

Jon grunted then nodded. “Some day.” 

 

They both paused as a small squad of armed men came past, led by two Unsullied, followed by six men wearing a sigil Jon could not place, a broken sword painted onto their armor. 

 

Jon watched as the armed men past, it seemed that there were nearly as many soldiers on the streets as smallfolk. 

 

“Second Sons,” Tyrion offered at Jon’s questioning look. “A mercenary company the Queen recruited in Essos. They along with the Unsullied are helping to keep the peace.”

 

_ Peace _ , Jon thought and glanced back at the city they were quickly rising above as they made their way up towards the Throne. Would the Queen march her men through Winterfell to keep the peace? Would she take the North for her own? 

 

Tyrion paused, “I know you're a good man, Jon Snow. The Queen can be kind and just, she gave me everything I ever wanted, all she asks for is loyalty, that’s all you need to give.”

 

“And if I don’t?”

 

Tyrion grimaced, “The Queen has gone through a lot in her short life, and she does not waste time playing games. Torrhen Stark saved the North by bending the knee, you can do the same.”  

 

Jon looked at the man, it had only been a few short years since they last met. But after everything that had happened it had felt like a lifetime, a lifetime that Tyrion Lannister wore plain on his face. 

 

“You can still smell the smoke,” Jon said. Here on the steps of the Red Keep he could see it all now, a vast sprawling city that made Winterfell look like a small village. More people lived here than every city in the North combined. 

 

“Better than the piss and shit it normally smells like.” Tyrion offered back, joining him in the view. “She will be a good Queen to them, and to you if you let her.” 

 

Jon nodded and moved to turn only to stop when Tyrion placed a hand on his arm. 

 

“The Queen does not take hostages, she does not take prisoners. But she will give you a choice, choose wisely Jon Snow.” 

 

~~~

  
  


“Queen Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, First of her Name, the Unburnt, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, and Mother of Dragons.” 

 

The feminine voice carried easily through the Red Keep’s throne room. Jon entered with Tyrion at his side. 

 

“House Darry fought for your family for generations Your Grace. We fought for you during the Rebellion. Our House was once strong, but now we are weak. Stripped of our lands and titles by the usurpers, but as before we are loyal to you the true Queen of the Seven Kingdoms,” an older man said from bent knee. 

 

Jon watched, briefly taking in the rest of the room. The hall is tall and vast, its pillars lined with torches, their flames dancing against the stone filling the room with their heat and light. Dozens of Unsullied lined the hall, onlookers behind them. Noble men and women, waiting for their moment. Smallfolk too, here to watch. 

 

“Stand Lord Darry.” 

 

Jon’s attention moved towards the Throne where the Queen sat. She was smaller than he had imagined, younger too. Not the foreign warlord the Northern Lords had warned against, but the young woman alone in the world Maester Aemon would receive ravens about. 

 

She was adorned in silver steel armor, polished to shine, and fitted to her form. The three-headed dragon etched into the breastplate, under it a back dress, with red timings and cloak. The colors of her house. Her eyes drifted towards him, first to Tyrion then she caught his eye, her lips upturned slightly before she turned her attention back to Lord Darry. 

 

“House Darry’s loyalty will be remembered, My Lord. As I rise so shall you and your family,” she spoke confidently and earned a smile from the elderly Lord. 

 

He stood and bowed, then shuffled back towards a small crowd of relieved onlookers who wore House Darrys colors. 

 

Tyrion raised his hand motioning him towards the throne, he could feel the eyes of court on him as he made his way before the Queen. He recognized some of the sigils they wore, some of their colors. The golden spear of House Martell, the rose of House Tyrell he even saw a few Krakens in the crowd amongst countless others, all of Westeros seemed to be here. He also saw the look of disdain in their eyes, a look that he had received from countless highborn men and women throughout his life. 

 

“Lord Snow” she smiled sweetly at him from the throne. “Have you come to bend the knee.” 

 

“No your grace,” he replied, and he could practically hear Tyrion's grimace beside him.  

 

“That’s a shame,” she said, her lips pursed tight. 

 

It happened so fast, the Unsullied guard behind him hitting him in the back of the knee with the blunt end of his spear hard enough to push his leg out from underneath him. He fell to one knee with barely enough time to look up. 

 

“Your Grace,” He heard Tyrion’s voice pleading before he felt a blow to the side of his head and his world went black. 

  
  


~~~ 

  
  


Jon could feel the heat, the power, a deep roar rumbled in his chest. He struggled to move, to open his eyes, but his body refused, instead, he felt one arm slide sluggishly and uselessly in front of him. The slight movement was enough to send his head spinning as if the entire world titled underneath him. 

 

“Please, no please.” 

 

He heard the cries, the pleading, a muffled sound of someone else talking, a whispered voice, a command in a language he could not understand then he heard the near deafening roar and felt the heat. So much heat. So hot he felt like he might melt, a single scream, then silence followed by the stench of burnt flesh. 

 

Again he struggled to stand, to move, but his body wouldn’t respond, he felt ill, sick to his stomach and unable to think. Every movement spending his head into another nauseating spiral. 

 

The stone was cold and wet against his cheek. He groaned as he forced his knees up and under him with one slow unsteady movement after another. He couldn't help but wonder why he was even making the effort? He knew first hand that it didn't matter. Dying on your feet or knees or even sprawled out on your stomach, it made no difference. Death didn't care. 

 

He stopped halfway, exhausted from something so simple, then rolled onto his back, his limbs spread prostrate and finally he saw it, saw him. Golden eyes staring down at him. Teeth as long as a sword.

 

For a moment he could do nothing but stare, not quite believing his eyes. In a stupor he reached out forcing his arm to move. He heard the voice again, foreign and angry and the dragon tilted its head, its jaw opening slightly but he continued to stare at him curiously. 

 

_ Could a dragon be curious?  _

 

Again he heard the voice, louder this time, angrier, demanding, he could almost make out the sounds, whoever she was she sounded much like the Queen. The dragon huffed a heavy breath through its nose, blasting him with a gust of warm air. 

 

The act reminded him of when Ghost would stubbornly disobey his commands. It was enough to make him laugh, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as his rattled mind tried to make sense of it all.  _ As good a memory as any to die too _ he figured as he reached out, fingers brushing against its skin. He was warm to the touch, so damned warm.  _ Fire made flesh _ he thought, and for a second he swore the dragon leaned into his hand before his arm became too heavy to hold out. It fell back to the stone floor and once again his world faded to darkness. 

 

~~~

 

Jon jolted awake with a start, coming too with a shock, painfully so as his head immediately began to spin, his vision blurred, he squinted then shifted his weight and found his body heavy and sluggish but in one piece.

 

He rolled onto his side, leaning upwards until he has half sitting.  _ What the hell had happened? _

 

He went to move his hand only to find it abruptly stop. Something was bound around each of his wrists, tied tight and heavy. 

 

He squinted and forced his eyes to focus. His wrists were bound with leather straps, around them iron chains.  He lay on the edge of a bed, his feet hanging off the end. He pulled on the chains, and watched them go tight. They were looped around rings on the wall at the head of the bed with enough slack to give him some movement but not enough to let him go far.

 

“Gods,” he groaned then flinched as he felt hands cup his cheek.

 

“Drink,” a soft voice said, “it will help with your head.” 

 

He didn't resist, instead he gulped down the sweet liquid. 

 

“What--” he muttered as he tried to clear his mind. Gone was the smell of ash and flesh. Gone was the heat. Instead the air was perfumed, a delicate scent of flowers and spice carried on a gentle breeze. 

 

When his head finally cleared he saw her standing in front of him, a vision of beauty, long near silver-blonde hair,  blue eyes which he swore flickered violet in the light looking curiously at him. Gone was the armor, instead she wore a thin blue dress that hung loosely from her shoulders, too sheer to be proper. Despite himself, he let his eyes wander.

 

She smirked at him, obvious to the effects she had on men and Jon felt his face flush with embarrassment.  _ Lustful and weak are what bastards are _ , Lady Starks words came to him then and he looked away shamefully. 

 

“You’re Ned Starks bastard,” she said gently as she sat back down, lounging over a cushioned chair near the foot of the bed. 

 

Jon ignored the question and pulled on his restraints again testing their strength as waited for the dull ache in his head to fade.  

 

“Where am I?” he muttered staring down at the silk sheets on the bed he was sitting. His fingers ran over the soft material,  _ when was the last time he had touched anything so soft, why was he here? _ He had half expected to be dead by now, or at least in a dingy stone cell, not on a bed nicer than any he had at the Wall or even Winterfell. He took in the ornate carvings on the bedposts, the intricate designs on the frame. The room itself was larger than any of the chambers in Winterfell and filled with furniture lined with gold and silver trim, draped with silks and furs. Where the hell was he?

 

“Who is your mother?” 

 

He finally looked at her then and wondered if he had misheard her. “What?”  She was watching him with a curious look in her eyes he could not place. She tracked his every small movement he made, her eyes sliding down his chest then to his arms. She bit her bottom lip as if she was pondering some great question before she met his eyes once again. He had to look away from her intense stare letting his eyes stray following the single braid that hung over her shoulder, and over her breast. _ Lustful, untrustworthy, _ he could hear the words in his head. He looked away and at the two Unsullied guards that stood behind her at the door, two dozen feet away. 

 

The Queen stood from where she sat, coming to stop just in front of him. 

 

Jon flinched as she raised her hand, and rested it onto his temple, sliding up until the tips of her fingers brushed against his hair. 

 

“I fear you have taken a blow to the head.” 

 

“Courtesy of your men,” he looked up at her as she stared down at him. She was close enough to touch, close enough to smell. With her hand cradled against the side of his head, the moment was oddly intimate, too intimate. He could reach out. 

 

The chains around his wrist went taunt, stopping his hands nearly a foot away from her. He let them go slack to his side resting on the soft bed useless as he felt. 

 

Her fingers skimmed softly over the right side of his face, and for the first time he could feel the swelling and dried blood there. Her touch was almost sensual, almost teasing. Too tender for what this should be. He was her prisoner, her hostage, he was-- he didn't know what he was to her. He shifted uncomfortably and moved his head away but her hands followed him. 

 

“I was told you do not take prisoners.” Jon said breaking the silence. 

 

“I do not.” 

 

“You kill the men who disagree with you.” 

 

She looked down at him and her face hardened slightly. “Will you pretend you do not? King in the North,” she said not hiding the sarcasm in her voice and finally pulled her hands away from him. Her smile grew as he leaned towards her without thinking, his body missing the comforting touch. 

 

“I do not--” 

 

“How many men did you have to kill to retake Winterfell?” She asked interrupting him. “I was told there was a pile of corpses as high as the castle walls. Or did my Master of Whispers mislead me and the Bolton's gave you back your lands after you asked politely?”

 

Jon turned away from her but she refused the motion, grasping his cheek from the other side pulling him back to face him. 

 

“We are not so different. We spare those willing to be spared. Lord Varys tells me you forgave many of the Lords and Houses that betrayed your family.”

 

“I did.” 

 

“And what would you have done if they had refused you?” 

 

Jon’s brow furrowed in confusion. 

 

“If you came to them and offered forgiveness their lands and titles back to them if they pledged themselves to you and your family once again. But instead they spat in your face and called you a foreign whore, that you had no right to the home your own family built? What would you have done then? How many chances would you give them?” 

 

Jon had no answer to her.

 

“I have no time to waste on lesser men unwilling to change.” Her voice went hard again, losing whatever softness that was once there. 

 

Jon pulled his chains tight, letting the iron speak for themselves. 

 

“Then you will release me?” 

 

Daenerys shook her head and pursed her lips looking down at him, she let her hand linger on his face. 

 

“I am told I am of an age with you. I was born on Dragonstone, just after the rebellion. You were born in the North?” 

 

Jon’s brow furrowed, why would she care. He shook his head, “I don’t know.” 

 

“You don’t know where you were born?” she puffed out a frustrated breath of air through her lips. But continued on, telling him how she had fled with her brother to Essos, her short time at Bravos before having to flee, her brothers' descent to madness, being sold to the Khal. The birth of her dragons. 

 

“Why are you telling me this?” Jon interrupted. 

 

“I wish to know more about the King in the North, it is only fair you know about me. That I am not the monster I'm sure your Northern Lords have told you I am.” 

 

He stared at her quizzically, “There’s nothing to know about me Your Grace.” she looked at him then stepped closer, nearly leaning over him before she sank down, sitting on his knees. 

 

Jon shifted suddenly uncomfortable by the closeness. _ He was her prisoner, she shouldn’t-- _ he swallowed hard. 

 

“I would not be so sure of that,” she looked at him, her body too close. He didn't know if she was trying to unnerve him, seduce him or simply torture him. 

 

“You walked the Red Waste after your dragons were born,” Jon offered, her brows rose slightly, “Qarth then Astapor, where you freed the Unsullied and the slaves there. They followed you, fought for you, as you took the cities of Yunkai and Meereen.”

 

Daenerys settled further onto his lap and Jon had to hold back a groan as he left her thighs press against his. 

 

“It seems news of my life has traveled further than I expected Jon Snow.” 

 

“The Maester at Castle Black took interest in you,” Jon replied, he stared up at the ceiling and willed himself to ignore the way she was inching up his legs. The way her thighs gently squeezed his own. The way she gasped softly, a sound barely loud enough to hear each time she moved on top of him. The way his cock hardened at the thought of having the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms barely dressed and mounting him. That if she moved any closer all he would need to do was reach out and take her. 

 

“And why would he do that?” Her voice snapped him out of his thoughts. 

 

“His name was Aemon, brother to your great grandfather, your uncle.” 

 

He felt her still on top of him, “He was a good man, kind, and wise.” he added. 

 

“Was?” she whispered. 

 

“He passed in his sleep years ago,” 

 

They stayed like that for a moment, no sound but their breathing. She was so close to him now he could feel the heat radiating from her, smell her sweet perfume hiding the slight musk of sweat. His eyes drifted to her lips, then down her neck watching her throat constrict as she swallowed. 

 

“Thank you Jon Snow,” 

 

Jon looked up at her, her eyes wet, “I told you there was more to your story.” 

 

She shifted on top of him, the chains on his arms going tight once again as he instinctively reached for her. 

 

She looked down, and he followed her gaze to her hips. 

 

“Do you wish to touch me Jon Snow?” her voice was a breathy whisper, “it has been so very long since anyone has.” 

 

“Release me.” Jon whispered back. 

 

“I will not,” she replied, her fingers dug tightly into his hair, she leaned in closer to him, her lips almost touching his own. Her fingers twisted into his hair and pulled until he fell back onto the bed. She stayed still for a moment looking down at him where she sat on his thighs before finally, she moved, crawling ever so slowly up his body, a wicked grin on her face. 

 

“If not a prisoner than then what am I,” he nearly groaned as she settled onto him, mounting him, grinding her body against his hard cock, “A bed slave?” 

 

She tensed at his words, her face falling slightly. “There are no slaves under my rule.” she leaned over him “You wish me to stop?” she asked her hips moving in slow deliberate circles on top of him. “Say the word and I will.” 

 

“Why?” 

 

She had moved close enough now, all he had to do was reach for her, he could grab her, demand his release. He could throw her off her. His hands came as far as his bindings would let him and stopped just above her hips. Tentatively he touched her, feeling the silk of her dress bunch under his grasp, the softness of her flesh under his fingers. He heard her gasp softly as he squeezed her and pulled her down harder against his aching cock. 

 

“Does a man get asked why when he takes a woman to bed?” She moaned, her cheek rubbing against his. “Then why should you ask me? Maybe I just like the way you look.  Maybe I like your pretty hair.” 

 

Jon flinched, and Daenerys pulled away as if she knew she has hit a sore spot. “Maybe I like your  _ pretty _ face, your  _ pretty _ lips,” she leaned down, brushing her lips against his until his parted slightly, she caught his bottom lip between her teeth biting gently. In return he nearly growled and lifted his hips, his hands digging in the flesh of her hips and ass. 

 

Her hand trailed down to his trousers then fumbled with the laces, “Maybe I simply want to know if your cock is as pretty as the rest of you?--" Jon pinched his eyes closed at just the thought. "--But you are no slave. Just say no and I shall stop, I will leave you be. I might even let you return to your cold frigid North.” 

 

She rolled her hips and Jon nearly whimpered. She reached down, a single finger toying with the string of his pants. 

 

“No?” she asked, looking up at him, waiting for a reply, a refusal, but he simply stared back at her, his eyes so dark they were nearly black. 

 

“No?” she asked again as the string came loose, his pants going slack, she could feel the hardness there, hidden behind thick cloth. Her fingers danced across the hard muscles of his lower abdomen, before moving lower still, snaking their way under his loose leathers. 

 

“No?” she asked a final time as the tips of her fingers slipped across his shaft. She found him thick and hard and waiting for her. She let the tips of her fingers dance lightly across his length then lighter still over the head of his cock. 

 

Jon groaned and clenched his jaw, his breathing rapid and raddled. 

 

“Yes?” she nearly purred into his ear, her lips brushing against his overheated flesh. Her fingers teased the tip of his cock, nearly surrounding him, almost touching him but never quite. 

 

“Yes,“ he moaned and she smiled wide at him. She took her victory and gave him his reward, her fingers coming to wrap around him, with one smooth motion she stroked him from root to tip, testing the length of him. She smiled and finally kissed him forcing her tongue into his mouth and against hers. His hands left her hips instead of capturing her head, holding her him to him as she plundered his mouth. 

 

“It’s been far too long Jon Snow,” she moaned as she pulled back away from his mouth with a gasp. She shifted on top of him, leaning to one side pushing her dress out of the way as his cock sprang free. Holding him steady she pressed against him, sliding his cock against her wet slit. She teased her clit with the head of him for a moment before she eased herself into him taking her time to let her body adjust to his size. A whimper escaped her lips and her eyes fluttered shut as she sank down onto him, impaling herself onto his cock. 

 

They both moaned as she seated herself on top of him. 

 

“Good,” Daenerys moaned, “so good,” as she began to rock against him. She clung to this shirt, balling the fabric in her fist as she rolled her hips against him. Jon moaned back at her, his mind going blank, she was so tight and warm and wet. Gods what was happening to him. He lifted his hips, matching her thrusts as she rode him hard and fast. 

 

She leaned forward, face burying into his neck as she moaned loudly in a language he could not understand or comprehend. She moved faster crying out against his flesh her teeth biting at his neck. Then she pulled away, back and up, and looked over him, she gnawed at her bottom lip, her eyes half closed as she rode him even harder still driving her hips up and down his shaft. Her cunt squeezing his cock, with every thrust. 

 

The debauched sound them fucking filled the the room, the sound of her whimpers and cries, her her body slamming down on him. Jon couldn’t stop himself, his hands dug into her ass guiding her up and down his body, he reached up, all thoughts of being her prisoner, of being King or the threat of the Night King forgotten. Instead he sat up and captured one breast in his mouth, his tongue teasing out another loud desperate moan from the Queen as she rocked on top of his cock, then bounced, grunting and moaning his name.

 

“Jon,” she cried, then she froze, a soft gasp escaping her lips. Her body shook and he felt her cunt convulse around him. Her hips jerked forward and she let out a strangled laugh of joy. She fell forward again with a moan, burying her face into his shoulder. 

 

She shuddered on top of him, once then twice and again. Her hips lazily rolling on hers. She whispered something into his neck, to soft for him to hear before he felt her lips and teeth and tongue on his flesh. 

 

Jon urged her to keep moving, his hands pulling on her hips as he lifted and shifted. She laughed against him pulling back slightly. Her pupils were blown wide and dark, her face shone with a sheen of sweat Her once pristine braid had come loose, spending stray strands of silver blonde hair all over.  

 

Her grin was nearly infectious as she pressed her forehead against his, blowing breathy moans into his face as she basked in her release. 

 

“You want more Jon Snow?” she asked in a hoarse whisper and she began to move her hips once again, “Say it,” she demanded, her slow teasing rolling of her hips near torturous

 

“Yes, more.” Jon groaned. Sometime during their frantic fucking her dress had fallen down off her shoulders, leaving the silky fabric to pool on her hips. He let his hands explore her body, soft delicate skin, slick with sweat. He let one hand cup her exposed breast, the other went to her ass, urging her to continue moving.  

 

“Gods you feel good inside me,” she moaned against his lips before kissing him. Her cunt convulsed, squeezing his cock and then his entire world came crashing down around him.  

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No beta forgive my obvious and terrible errors.

  
  


Daenerys had not planned for this to happen. She had not expected the King in the North to travel a thousand miles south without an army, without escort or guard, only to deny her what was hers by right. She had not expected Drogon to act the way he had, she had no expected herself to act-- 

 

She had to admit she might have let herself get a little carried away, Daenerys thought idly, a sly smile on her lips as she watched the man beside her sleep. Her advisers would not be pleased once they heard of this. 

 

His chest rose and fell gently, his arms still chained to the wall. She had left him with enough slack to afford him a limited range of movement. But he could not escape, he couldn’t really move more than a few feet from where he was now, but he could touch her if he wished, and he had. The light bruises on her hips the scratches on her back were proof of that. 

 

He only wore his tunic, an oversight on her part, difficult to remove a man's shirt while his hands were tied to a wall, but then she hadn’t exactly had planned this to happen. His lower half lay partially covered, his legs tangled in a mess of silk sheets. 

 

She had to admit he was a particularly attractive young man, a bundle of tightly woven muscle with a pretty face. 

 

She licked her lips thinking back the night they had and let her eyes linger, stopping on the scars on his stomach revealed by the slight rise of his shirt. She had noticed them last night but had been too preoccupied to care. 

 

She traced one with her finger, the lowest, nearly on his hip. Delighting in the sight of the muscles of his stomach pulling tight at her touch. He was a very attractive man indeed, but the scar was something else. 

 

Ugly and open, as if it had never healed properly, as if it had never healed at all. Daenerys leaned in closer, trailing her hand up his stomach pulling his shirt up as she went. One scar led to another, then a third and fourth. Deep gashes in his flesh. Her brow furrowed. There were no stitches, no signs of treatment. The wounds looked almost fresh, as if they had never been tended too yet they did not bleed or fester. Her hand moved up further still, until it rested over the largest of the marks and over his heart. 

 

A groan escaped her captive’s lips and he stirred, his head twisted up as if in disagreement. Her hand retreated and a part of couldn’t help but feel ashamed, as if she had intruded on something private she was not meant to know, and another part simply wished to tear the clothes from his body and lay him bare in front of her. 

 

She looked up and found him staring at her, those intense dark eyes, his lips parted as if he was about to speak, but then he moved and his chains rattled tearing his eyes from hers, his face fell slightly as if he was now just remembering where he was and what had happened last night. 

 

She did not know what to say. So she reached over to the table beside the bed and grabbed the small bottle she had had a handmaiden fetch while he still slept. 

 

She reached for his head and tried to not take offense when he flinched. 

 

“The wound on your head needs to be tended too,” she spoke softly, and he visually relaxed slightly. 

 

She let her fingers gently twist into his curls, she had called him pretty last night in jest but it had been the truth. 

 

“I must apologize,” she said, chewing on her bottom lip as she concentrated on spreading the salve over the cut just behind his temple. “My men were over-exuberant in their duties, Dothraki seem to make for poor palace guards.” he flinched again as she touched him. 

 

“Does it hurt?” 

 

“No,” he muttered back and looked away. 

 

“Then why do you flinch like I’m about to strike you.” 

 

“Sorry,” a looked crossed his face as, “I am not used too-” he stopped, “it doesn't matter.” 

 

It dawned on her then, from what she had been told of the King in the North he had joined the Night’s Watch at a young age, she felt herself blush at the thought that she just might have been his first, he certainly hadn’t acted like she was but then- even still, there must not have been many women at the Wall waiting to tend to his wounds. 

 

“Being a man of Nights Watch must have been a lonely life.” she offered. 

 

His eyes met hers again, searching as if he was figuring her meaning. 

 

“I’m not quite used to this,” he said. 

 

“Having your wounds treated by another or being a hostage?”

 

The chains rattled as he moved. “Either, both-” he shifted on the bed, “a soft bed, waking up chained to the wall--” his eyes drifted down slightly before looking back at her.  _ Other things. _

 

She pulled away, finished with cleaning the wound as best she could. In truth the cut wasn’t so bad, the swelling had already stopped and she doubted it would even leave a scar. 

 

“It’s for my protection.”

 

He lifted one hand, grasping her neck with a gentle touch, his thumb running over her jawline. 

 

“You think I’m a threat?” 

 

She closed her eyes and felt her body warm against his touch. A little surprised by his forwardness. 

 

“You're too important. I can’t have you running off can I?” 

 

The bed shifted under her and she opened her eyes to see him move closer. 

 

“Do you keep all your hostages chained to beds?” 

 

“Only you.” 

 

He looked at her, searching for something before he looked away, he shifted, planting his hands on the bed lifting himself so he was almost sitting up. 

 

“What do you want from me?” he asked looking down at his bindings.

 

“I want you and the North to rejoin the Seven Kingdoms. A kingdom that prospered for three hundred years.” 

 

“And if I tell you the North will never bow to a southern ruler?” 

 

“Then I will say we will need to negotiate,” she said then sat up. The way his eyes drifted down over her body did not go unnoticed, she was pleased to find that he seemed to be as enamored with her as she was with him. She stood, and went to the loop where the chains were held. They were tied to his wrists, then strung through the loops bolted to the wall. Right now there was enough slack to let him move with relative ease but if she pulled them tight, his arms would be effectively pinned to the head of the bed. 

 

She pulled on the chains, stopping when she felt resistance. She looked at him, daring him to resist. He met her stare, his eyes narrowing before she saw the muscles in his arms relax. Whatever he was thinking he dropped it. She gave a testing pull on the chains, his arms pulled up and over his head forcing him to lay back down. 

 

“The North won’t bend to your will just because you hold me captive, they won’t negotiate for my release.” 

 

“I said nothing of your release.”

 

“Then what?”

 

“How many men can the North field?”

 

His brow notched, and he tried to sit up again but his bindings made that practically impossible, “I can’t- I won’t tell you that.” 

 

Daenerys hooked his chains in place then moved to him, straddling on his thighs once again. 

 

“You think I don’t already know? With all my spies and generals. You think I don't know the size of my enemies armies?”

 

“I’m not your enemy.”  

 

“I know,” she whispered, “How many men?” 

 

“I--” Jon faltered as she leaned over him, close enough to kiss but she held back, instead she slipped down slightly pacing her lips against the hollow of his throat. “If you know already why--” She kissed his collar bone, letting her tongue dart along the flesh before scraping her teeth against him. He tasted of sweat and sex, he tasted of them. 

 

She bit her lip, squeezed his thighs between hers. She pulled on his tunic until she heard the fabric rip, _ good enough _ she thought as she kissed his chest, giving a moment to stare at the scar there.  _ Another time. _

 

“You know of my armies, my dragons. Do you think it matters if you have five or fifteen thousand? How many men?”

 

“Why?” he nearly groaned as she scraped his teeth down the hard muscles of his stomach. She felt his cock throb to life, swell and press against her breast. 

 

“This is a negotiation, You give me something. I give you something.” her breath was warm against his skin and she could see the goosebumps spread over his flesh. The chains rattled as he pulled on his bindings and groaned. “What would my people think if they knew what I was doing was for nothing?”

 

Jon groaned she felt it reverberate through his entire body. 

 

“What would they think if they knew I took you into my mouth,” she slipped lower, delighted in the way his body shook and the whimpers he made. His cock was hard, standing proud pressing against her chest, she moved lower still until it rubbed against her neck, then her cheek. “If I sealed my lips around you,” she said the words softly, as she hovered in front his engorged shaft. “If I swallowed you?” her breath touched him, her lips almost.  His cock twitched, swollen so much it almost looked painful. 

 

“Ten thousand,” it was barely a whisper but it was enough. Close enough to what Varys had reported anyway. 

 

She leaned down, brushing her closed lips against the underside of his head. His entire body jerked, chains rattled, legs spreading. 

 

“See, not so hard,” she whispered before she parted her lips, and took him into her mouth. 

 

He gasped, his hips lurched upwards, she moved with him, not yet ready to take him fully into her throat, instead she pressed her tongue against the underside of his cock. 

 

“Daenerys,” he pleaded, a whimper really. She looked up as she suckled on his tip and watched his face contort in pleasure. It was the first he had said her name and she quite enjoyed the way it sounded on his lips. 

 

Finally he looked down at her, his eyes half hooded, a look of utter want and desire plain on his face. She had to wonder then what he was thinking, looking down to find the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms with her mouth around his cock. 

 

She smiled at him, at least as best as she could with his dick in her mouth, and sank down further, until she had to fight back the urge to gag. He moved, lurched, and cried out. She dragged her hands up his thighs to his stomach and she heard the chains rattle once again. 

 

She pulled up, moaning against his cock, bobbing up head up and down as she sucked on him. She felt a twinge of pressure between her own legs, her body demanding her own pleasure. She ignored it for the moment, pushed it away, the taste of him as addicting, wanton and wrong. She knew what her advisers would think, having her one and only hostage chained to her bed, that she had spent most of the day dreaming of this moment. But she did not care, she could not help herself. She wanted more, she wanted all of him. 

 

“Daenerys, please,” he huffed, and she felt his cock throb in her mouth. She pulled up and off with a gasp, spit trailing from her lips down his cock. She would swallow him later, for now she was dripping wet and aching with need. With heavy breathes she scrambled up his body, her eyes never leaving his. 

 

The bindings were tight, taut as he pulled against him until she mounted him, her hand reaching between them, there was no teasing or taunting this time, she held him firm and sank down onto him. 

 

Her cunt ached, stretched and she cried out as the delicate mix of pain and pleasure shot through her. Gods the man was made for fucking. 

 

She leaned until their foreheads touched. _ Perfect _ , she thought, they fit together perfectly. Any thoughts of him having reservation of kissing her were erased as he leaned up capturing her lips with his own, pressing his tongue against hers. 

 

She moaned with him and laughed into his mouth, her hands grasping his head as she began to ride him for all he was worth. She whimpered and gasped between heated kisses, she rolled her hips, and squeezed them basking in the feeling of having him inside her. 

 

She knew he wouldn't last long, not after what she had done to him with her tongue, but she did not want this to end, not before-- she pressed one hand between her legs, to the sensitive flesh above they were joined and began rubbing herself. 

 

She regretted tying him up, removing his strong hands from the game. She wished it was his fingers on her and not her own. His hands grabbing at her flesh, urging and pulling guiding controlling her movements driving her wild. 

 

The heat in her belly exploded, sending a wave of heat all the way down to her toes, she cried out his name her face buried into his shoulder. She heard him moan, then felt his cock throb inside her, and it sent her spiraling again, sparks of pleasure soaring up her spine. She shook, and trembled, thrusting her hips up and down, her cunt convulsing around him. 

 

She rode out that pleasure as long as she could, until her heart stopped pounding, her blood stopped rushing. Until she slowed and simply laid still on top of him, completely spent, his cock still nestled tightly inside her. 

 

Her head rested on his chest, the calming sound of his beating heart an odd comfort and she found herself drifting back to sleep. 

 

A knock on the door broke her out of her trance and she groaned pulling herself up. Gasping as she shifted her legs and his cock slipped free. 

 

“Where are you going,” he whispered and she realized he had dozed off as well. 

 

She smiled sadly back at him, “I am a Queen, I must rule.” She stood, glancing over at him and worried her bottom lip, “I will return tonight to continue our negotiations.” 

 

~~

  
  


Daenerys had experienced first hand that ruling could be a bore, a fact made all that more apparent when she knew she could be doing other things. 

 

Lords and Ladies from all of Westeros came to pledge fealty. When she wasn’t in the throne room with them she was in her council chambers listening to reports on food supplies, troop movements, redistribution of lands and titles to those who had stayed loyal to her. War plans for those few hold outs that did not. 

 

No one spoke of Jon Snow, not yet, but she saw the unasked question in their eyes. 

 

It was late before she had found the opportunity to return to her hostage. 

 

She found him where she had left him, bound to her bed. She had sent handmaidens and a few Unsullied to tend to him during the day, to release him from his bindings and to let him wash and bathe, to eat and drink. She was happy to find they had returned him to his original state, less happy to find that they had clothed him. 

 

But it was not unexpected, she had come prepared, relinquishing a dagger from one of the guards posted outside her chambers. 

 

Jon watched her as she entered, tracking her movement as she approached his eyes glancing down to the blade. 

 

“A new form of negotiation? How many times will I need to tell you that the North won’t bend to a foreign ruler.” 

 

“I’m told the North is loyal above all else. They will if their King does.” 

 

He let out a frustrated groan then laughed bitterly. 

 

“That North died with my brother at the Twins.” He sighed, letting his head fall back against the pillows. He stared at his bound hands for a moment, and she watched as the muscles in his arms and chest flexed as he pulled on them again, his face fell slightly, sadness washing over him. “The North I know is stubborn and scared. Ruled by men and women who watched their families get betrayed and killed by the southerners they called allies. If I bent the knee-" he paused and looked at her, "-they would not see me as their King, but just a bastard boy that they had no reason to follow or obey. Even if I wanted too I couldn't give you what you want." 

 

“Then why did you come south?” she asked,

 

“I--” he faltered, “there are threats in the North I cannot ignore.” 

 

Her eyes narrowed, “What threats?” 

 

The chains pulled tight again and Jon sighed. “You will think I’m mad. Remove these chains and I will tell you everything you want to know.” 

 

“No,” she shook her head. 

 

“Daenerys,” her name was almost pleading on his lips. 

 

“I do not wish to spend the night arguing, it’s all I do all day.” 

 

“Then release me.” 

 

“I was happy to hear you gave my handmaidens no trouble,” she said ignoring him, changing the subject and standing over the bed. Jon sighed, defeated, for now at least. 

 

“You thought I would attack them?” he asked incredulously. 

 

“I suppose not, but you made no attempt to escape. A fact that seems to warrant a reward.” she shrugged one shoulder of her dress off. She watched as he swallowed, his eyes lingering over her body, she felt herself blush, warmth spreading everywhere he looked she picked the dagger off the bed and moved towards him, quickly taking her spot on top of him. He groaned and flexed. 

 

“Why did you have to dress,” she muttered as she began working on his trousers, smiling when the laces final came undone, she gave them a hard tug freeing his half hard cock, she pulled on them again until they were around his knees.   _ Good enough _ , he could do the rest, then she looked at his tunic, pulled on the neck and brought the dagger up to slice it off, the fabric fell open. She tossed the blade to the other side of the bed. 

 

She licked her lips, for the first time getting a complete view of him. He was as if he was sculpted from stone, she watched his body flex under her scrutiny, muscles pulling tight under pale skin, there wasn’t an inch of softness to him. She pressed her hand tenderly over his chest, over the scar there and felt his heart racing, she watched as his eyes darken. It was a story for another time, one she would hear, but not now. 

 

She leaned down, placing a gentle kiss on it before moving away, 

 

“I’ve been thinking of you all day,” she said moving to his face, pecking at his lips teasingly. “You made quite an impression on me." 

 

“You must know how boring ruling can be? Everyone wants this and that.” her hand trailed down his stomach, finding his cock and she began to stroke him. 

 

“But the memory of last night has been teasing me all day, keeping me wet and waiting,” she let him slip against her soaking slit. 

 

“Daenerys,” he moaned, the chains above his head going tight. 

 

“The thought of you has been teasing me all day, it's only fair I repay the favor.” 

 

He kissed her, or rather he tried too but she pulled away, then ducked back down capturing his lips briefly, he tried to deepen the kiss but she pulled back again away enjoying the growl that escaped him. She pushed her hips down, grinding against his cock. 

 

His eyes darkened, the chains rattling against its bindings.

 

“Fuck,” he hissed as she rolled her hips, she could feel him squirming under her trying to end the torture. 

 

“Your mine Jon,” she bit at his ear, then kissed his neck, his jaw, then his lips, “to do what I please with, when I please.” She leaned back slightly, letting the head of his cock part her folds, all it would take was the right movement, the shifting of her hips and he would be inside her, he would fill her, spread her wide. Jon moaned and lifted his hips but it was too late as she had already moved. 

 

He groaned and she grinned and then she heard the snap of leather. 

 

She barely had time to look up, to the see the that the leather that was wrapped around his wrist had somehow come undone, to see his hand free of its bindings before she felt him move. He rolled them both over until he was on top of her, pressing her down into the bed with the weight of his body. 

 

No. No. No. A moment of panic and fear raced through her. Why hadn’t she checked the bindings, why had she let he Unsullied stay outside the room. She was a stupid foolish girl, her families dynasty would end because she had fallen for her enemy, a stupid man and his stupid pretty cock. She looked to her side where the once forgotten dagger lay and she saw his head turn as well.  She reached and immediately felt his hand grab hers. 

 

No. He wrenched her hand up and away pinning it above her head. He was so much stronger than she was, she wiggled and struggled. It would be nothing for him to grab the blade and end her. It would be nothing for him to wrap those hands around her neck and strangle the life from her, she was his to do what he liked with her. 

 

She opened her mouth to call for her Unsullied when she froze, feeling him press against her. 

 

He was staring at her, not the dagger, nor was he wasn’t looking for a way to escape or to free his other arm, he was looking at her. Not with anger or hatred or murderous intent in his eyes but lust. Her heart beat a thousand beats a minute but he didn’t move, he didn’t take her. 

 

She searched his eyes. He was waiting for permission. 

 

“Yes,” she whispered, shifting her hips ever so, it was all he needed as he drove into her, plunging himself into her aching cunt. She cried out in pleasure. He pulled back, her body squeezing him tightly not wanting to let him go over before he drove into again making her see white. Again he plunged into her, and again she cried. Harder and faster he fucked her. 

 

Her thighs dragged up his hips, as needy moans escaped her lips, he moved faster angrily, as he took her. 

 

She cried out, her hands now free and digging into his back, his waist, his ass. 

 

“Jon!” she moaned as her world shattered around her, and still he kept fucking her, pounding her body into the bed, “Jon!” she cried out again as she turned into a whimpering moaning mess.  He shuddered, his body rocking, one hard thrust, followed by another, then another until he stilled. 

 

The room was silent but for their heavy breathing. 

 

She pressed her head into his shoulder her mind reeling, he moved, his cock shifted free and she realized what she had done. She had lost control, let a man she barely knew take control of her, she could have been killed, she could have lost it all.

 

She pushed on him. Her arms and legs forcing them apart. 

 

“Get off,” she muttered, “Get off,” she demanded again more loudly. He did, rolling to her side, she scampered off the bed in an undignified mess of clumsy limbs and felt his seed leak from her swollen cunt. 

 

She looked at him as he stared back at her, he looked confused, worried, concerned even. 

 

“Dovaogēdy,” she called and two Unsullied immediately opened the door and stepped into the room. She pulled on her robe angrily. Angry at who, she wasn't sure. 

 

“I--” Jon began sitting up, one hand still bound he looked down suddenly, as if he was ashamed of what he had done.

A part of her wanted to comfort him, crawl back into his arms, kiss him, love him. She needed to get away from this. 

 

“Letagon zirȳla,” she said in Valyrian to the two guards and left the room. 

  
  


~~~

  
  


Dovaogēdy = Unsullied

Letagon zirȳla = Bind him


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled a bit with this one so it took me a little longer than expected. Hope you enjoy it. Unbeta'ed so forgive any glaring mistakes.

  
  


“He’s just a stubborn old man.”

 

“He’s a traitor and a suicidal fool that would rather die and let his family and people suffer if it saved him from looking weak--”

 

_ “Daenerys,” his voice was a hoarse whisper in her ear, moaned between breaths as he lay on top of her, his body heavy, pressing her into the soft bed. Her legs spread, their bodies joined. He moved and she moaned. _

 

“Horn Hill can hold a thousand men at arms and twice that many civilians, women and children, but they can’t withstand a siege. They have nowhere to go, no support, no allies to call on, it would only be a matter of time before--”

 

_ She could still hear him, still taste him, feel him inside her. Daenerys pressed her legs together, willing the ache there to go away. He was so much stronger than her, he could have done anything he wanted to her, he was in control, she was helpless, and some part of her had liked it. _

 

“You want to starve them out? How many months will that take? We could take the castle, the Queen has three dragons for fuck sake. There is no need to starve people to death. Burn down the front gate, if the foolish men inside don’t surrender after that they deserve what comes next.”

 

_ ”Drogon, Doar! Keligon!” she commanded, but Drogon ignored her and in his haste nearly tore down a building near the edge of the large courtyard where they had gathered.  _

 

_ She watched in horror as Drogon loomed over a half-conscious Jon Snow. The men who had brought him here had scattered in fear at the sight of a charging dragon. _

 

_ “Keligon,” She screamed. She watched helplessly as Drogon tilted his head towards her as if considering her command before ignoring her once again. His attention turned back to the King in the North and then Jon Snow reached up.  _

 

_ ”Jon!” she cried as she came, her eyes slamming shut, her mouth open agape, a breathy moan escaping her lips. He drove into her again and for a moment she thought she would pass out, she moaned a silent cry of pleasure, her fingers digging into the hard muscles in his back, her legs tightening around him.  _

 

“Your Grace?”

 

_ He was looking at her, those dark eyes staring into hers, his loose curls framing his face. His one free hand pinning her to the bed, his breath ragged. He wanted her, and she wanted him. _

 

_ He moaned her name, she closed her eyes and felt him throb inside of her. _

 

“Your Grace.” Tyrion’s voice finally pierced her thoughts, she looked up at him the council meeting in front of her.

 

Tyrion watched her curiously, a glass of wine in hand. Olenna seemed somewhat amused, Yara was glaring at Tyrion, Theon had his head down, all of them waited on her.

 

“Forgive me,” she said, brushing off their looks and hoped none of them noticed the blush crawling up her neck. “It is late, and this conversation is clearly going nowhere, our troops are still a weeks march from Horn Hill, we can continue this discussion tomorrow.” She nodded and it was enough to dismiss the group. All but Tyrion.

 

He waited patiently, toying with his wine glass, swirling the liquid around the inside of the cup as the rest her council filtered out of the room.

 

“Tarly is not all we have to discuss, there is another pressing matter.” He said when they were finally alone.

 

Daenerys sighed.

 

“People are already beginning to talk, soon the North will wonder what happened to their King. You can’t keep him locked up forever.”

 

“I’m the Queen, I thought that meant I could do whatever I wanted.”

 

“We both know that’s not true.”

 

She let out another frustrated sigh, she did know that. The fact that Tyrion would not let the simple jest slide did not bode well, maybe she had let things go too far when it came to Jon Snow.

 

_ She watched as Jon Snow's hand traced across Drogon's jaw. She heard and felt the familiar pleased rumble come from her child, a content purr that had been saved for only her. It wasn't possible. _

 

“Have you made any progress with him at least? I know Northerners can be a stubborn lot but Jon Snow seemed like a smart lad when I first met him.”

 

Daeanerys looked at Tyrion, embarrassed that she had once again lost herself in thought.

 

“Stubborn is an understatement.” she scoffed.

 

“Maybe I could speak some sense into the man, but whatever we do it must be done quickly or we risk war with the North, unless that is what you want to happen.”

 

“I have no wish for more needless death.”

 

Tyrion regarded her for a moment, before giving her a pointed look. “Then are always other options.”

  
  


000

  
  


She found him sitting on the side of the bed, his bare back turned to her, a mess of damp dark curls cascading down his face. His chains were loose, coiled around his feet leading to where they were bolted to the floor.

 

He turned slightly, his dark eyes watching her approach but he made no effort to move or speak. She sat beside him, crossing her legs before he looked back down the bindings, his fingers tracing idly over the metal lock.

 

“A Meereenes lock,” she offered, “there’s no key so it cannot be picked, all it requires is two hands putting pressure in the right places to open.”

 

He looked at the lock for a moment before turning back to her. “Meereen,” he said, his voice gruff, he lifted his hands and the chains rattled on the floor, “You freed the slaves there?”

 

"I did," she replied smiling at him.

 

"And you brought their chains with you?" he asked glancing sideways at her before looking down at his bound wrists. 

 

She rolled her eyes, “Do you enjoy antagonizing me?”

 

He surprised her by smirking before looking away, “It might be all I can do, I am chained to the wall after all.”

 

She stood, “The Meereenese did not keep their slaves in chains, they had no need to and you are not my slave.”

 

“As you have told me Your Grace.”

 

“Why did you come South?” she asked and turned to face him.

 

He looked at her for a moment, “I was invited.”

 

“You are not a stupid man. You knew the strength of my armies, that the largest Khalasar the world has ever seen backs me, the armies of the Dornish, the Reach, the Iron Islands, I have eight thousand Unsullied, two thousand sellswords. You know I consider the North part of my kingdom and yet you still came. You knew you would not give me what I wanted and you still came.” she stepped towards him.

 

“Do you have a death wish, is that it?” she asked stopping in front of him.

 

He looked up from where he sat, through the mess of curls that partially covered his face. His features contorted but his eyes never leaving hers.

 

“You know how many follow me, you know of my dragons. Yet you deny me what is mine?”

 

His eyes narrowed at her. “The North isn’t yours. It's no ones.”

 

She laughed, “Rich coming from the one calling himself King.”

 

“They named me King, I never wanted it.”

 

“Then why did you come south?”

 

“I need your help” He sighed, as if she had just pried some great secret from him, relieved him of a burden. 

 

“Why?”

 

“To win a war.”

 

“What war?”

 

He looked away, as if undecided. his shoulders slumped. “There are threats beyond the wall.”

 

“I am told you made peace with the Wildlings, brought them south.”

 

“They are not the threat behind the wall,” he paused, “It's what they were running from.”

 

She looked at him expectedly and he shifted under her gaze, almost unsure of himself. He sighed. “The dead.” 

 

She smiled, her eyes lighting up, she had not expected a joke from a man so somber and broody, she almost let herself laugh before she saw the look in his eye. This was no joke or jest, not to him at least.

 

“You came south to ask me to fight a war with you against ghosts-" she paused, regarding him carefully,  "-and to think they call me the Mad Queen.”

 

He looked down at his chains, “Not ghosts, they are as real as you or I and can kill a man just as easily.”

 

She looked at him, as his body slumped down where he sat. For the first time she noticed how tired he looked, worn out, and oddly enough she did not think he was lying, mistaken perhaps, delusional maybe, but she did not take him for a liar.

 

“So you traveled alone, a thousand miles South, to ask me for help against at threat you knew I would not believe.”

 

His eyes drifted down again, his hands coming to his face to rub his eyes, his shoulders moved and she was surprised to hear a slight chuckle escape his chest. 

 

“Sometimes I fear I’ve gone mad. After everything that has happened.” He shook his head then looked up at her, his voice once again going somber. “How could I not,” he muttered more to himself than her. 

 

“The Nights Watch had sent a severed hand south years ago when Tyrion was in King’s Landing. I don’t know, maybe I hoped he had seen it, remembered it.”

 

He flexed his fingers, stretching scarred hand that she could still remember sliding up her thigh. “Maybe I had hoped the women that had brought dragons back into the world, that they say can walk through flames unburnt would believe me.” He looked away, “Maybe I am mad. Maybe I just don’t know what to do anymore.”

 

She closed the distance between them, lightly pushing his hands apart, he looked up and moved his hands, letting her get closer, letting her slide into that comfortable place on his lap that she had made her own.

 

“Then bend the knee, join me, and if this threat is real than all of Westeros will fight against it.” she whispered. “I will send men North to see the truth of it.”

 

He looked up at her, he was close enough to kiss, his hands came to rest on her thighs. She moved closer and felt him stiffen, his breathing increase. He squeezed her, a gentle touch, the pads of his fingers pressing lightly into her skin, and in return her breathing sped to match his own. 

 

“I wish I could, I wish I could trust you. I do,” he whispered back.

 

“Then trust me.”

 

“The North will not accept--”

 

“I do not care about the North right now, only it’s King.” she interrupted.

 

“I’ve heard stories of your great deeds, of freeing slaves and cities. But those are not the only stories I’ve heard. For every tale of you freeing men and women, I have heard another of you killing anyone who stood in your way, of burning innocent men because it pleased you.”

 

“Lies told by enemies, I am not my father.”

 

“Is it a lie that Yara and Theon Greyjoy sit on your council?”

 

Daenerys looked at him. There was an anger there she had never seen before. 

 

“What they did to the North, what they did to my family are not lies.”

 

Daenerys stayed silent.

 

“You chained me to your bed.” he lifted his hands as if to make a point, the chains rattled. “You fill your council with men and women who have done nothing but hurt the North and the people I care about. Tell me why should I trust you when you surround yourself with people like that? When you have tried to kill me once already.”

 

“I did not,” she whispered. 

 

He nearly sneered back at her, “You didn't?  You think I’d forget coming face to face with a dragon?”

 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” she shook her head. “You think I am a threat? That I am what my enemies say I am?” she heard his intake of breath as she pushed towards him. She inched closer towards him until whatever space between them was gone, her breasts pressed tightly against his chest, her lips near his ear. She felt the scruff of his beard against her cheek. His hands instinctively coming to wrap around her lower back, holding her close.

 

“Then there is nothing stopping me from marching North and taking Winterfell by force,” she whispered. “If you truly believed I would do that you could have stopped me.”

 

She pulled back until their breaths mingled. “You’ve had your chances. Why haven’t you taken them?  You could have rid the world of the Mad Queen, you could have saved the world from my wraith? Been a hero to everyone in Westeros, you could take the throne for yourself.”

 

She nudged his chin with her own, “There were no guards here last night when your bindings came undone, you could have done anything you wished.” she pressed her lips against his, barely touching him pulling away as he leaned into her. She shifted her hips, crawling further up his lap until their hips rested flush against each other, she could feel him harden under her.

 

“There are no guards here right now.” her eyes searched his, “Even chained I am at your mercy. But you won’t, because you don’t think I am the person my enemies make me out to be. Because--” she paused and caught his bottom lip between her teeth earning a growl from him as she pressed herself down onto his aching cock. “--Because you want me as badly as I want you. From the first moment you walked into my throne room.” She gasped as his grip on her ass tightened and he pressed himself up into her. She cursed the thin layers of clothing between. “You’ve felt this connection, just as I have.”

 

She leaned in, pressing her lips against his, his mouth parted, his head tilting, she kissed him, hard and demanding, while forcing her body down onto him, grinding her hips against the hardness of his cock. They moaned together, and she felt his fingers dig into her backside holding her tightly to him. 

 

She had missed this, she missed him, she missed how he sounded, missed how he smelt, missed how he felt. She had known the man no longer than a few days, and had only been away from him for a few hours and yet she still missed him, how foolish was she.

 

She pulled away from him with a gasp, his lips were swollen, his eyes dark, she could imagine she looked just the same. He was wearing to much, she was wearing to much. She reached down pulling at his trousers with clumsy fingers wanting nothing more than to feel him bury himself inside her. 

 

She pressed her face against his, dragging her cheek against his, brushing her nose against his. She leaned in pressing a kiss against his lips, then pushed further, moaning against him as his lips parted, and for a moment he kissed her back, leaning into her deepening the kiss, his tongue sliding against hers.

 

That familiar pleasant warmth filled her once again, she rolled her hips again, hoping to tease him into taking control but the sensation was enough to nearly send her over the edge. It was better this way simpler, she could forget he was her prisoner, forget she had a kingdom to run, forget everything but him.

 

She felt him moan underneath her and she mewed in delight. His hands slid up her sides, over her back until they cupped her face, she heard the chains rattle, then felt him stiffen under her. He pulled away.

 

He pressed his head against hers, his forehead leaning against hers. “Am I to stay here for the rest of my days then?” he asked breathily. “to be used whenever you see fit?”

 

She shook her head, this wasn’t what she wanted, she leaned in again but he pulled back slightly. She grit her teeth

 

His hand came dropped down from her face, resting tenderly against her neck, “You trust me enough to lay with me. To let me--” His eyes closed and she shuddered knowing that he was thinking of all the wonderful things he had done to her over the last few days. “But you don’t trust me enough to free me?”

 

She sighed and their breathing calmed. He was right of course, as good of a distraction this had been it could never have lasted, not like this at least.

 

She took one of his hands in hers and reached for the bindings. She had not lied before, the bindings were from Meereen, impossible to remove with a single hand but relatively easy to do with two. She pressed her fingers into the steel at the right places and the latch snapped open. The bindings came free, then fell to the ground and the room went silent. 

 

“Join my council.”

 

Jon’s burrow furrowed, “What?”

 

She took his hand in hers, turned it over and rubbed his wrists gently, “You say I surround myself with people who have done harm to yours, that my council is full of your enemies and Southerners who care little for the North. Then change that. Join my council, let a Northern voice be heard.”

 

“And bend the knee?”

 

Her face fell slightly and she sighed. Maybe she had gone the wrong way. She had been selfish, unqueenly, and things had spiraled out of her control. She shook her head, not sure if it was a response to his question or just confusion on her own part, of not knowing what she wanted from him anymore. She moved back, slipping off his lap until her feet hit the floor.

 

“Wait,” he said his hands coming up to grab her the back of her thighs.

 

For the first time since she had entered her throne room he stood in front of her. He wasn't especially tall, but neither was she. She couldn't stop herself from stepping closer until she could feel the heat radiating off of him.

 

She glanced down watching the quick rise and fall of his toned scarred chest before she met his eyes. He stared back at her as if he was searching for something, asking a question she did not know.

 

Whatever that question was he did not ask it, instead he bent down slightly and she leaned up, their mouths meeting. Her lips parted, and she let out a satisfied gasp as she felt his tongue trace along her bottom lip.

 

Without warning his hands were on her hips, twisting them both until her legs hit the side of the bed. She fell back, then one strong arm caught her, wrapped around the small of her back, and gently lowered her to the bed.

 

No chains, no bindings. She swallowed a heavy breath as Jon hovered over her, he bent down again kissing her again, soft lips pressing against her own, his tongue dancing against hers.

 

He moaned and she felt the weight of him press against her and suddenly she felt lightheaded and dizzy. 

 

There he hovered over her, staring down, her breath quickened, she pulled on her dress, wishing the thin material away so nothing was between them. He caught her mouth in another biting kiss. King or Queen, North, South, the Throne, none of it seemed to matter much at that moment.

 

Her heart pounded as he took her hands in his lifting her arms above her head. He could take her again, hard and fast. Fuck her roughly, her heart sang at the thought, in anticipation.

 

But then he kissed her then, tenderly, and she couldn’t help but whimper. She blinked in surprise when he didn’t take her right there and then, and instead placed a kiss on her neck, then throat. Lower still, he captured a breast in his mouth, she moaned as his tongue teased the already hard peak. 

 

Her throat hitched as his hands traveled up her thighs, his legs nudging hers apart, he kissed lower still, the underside of her breasts, her stomach. She sucked in breathe as she felt his tongue on her navel, the scratch of his teeth against her flesh.

 

She buried one hand in his curls, and gasped as his beard rubbed against her thighs, scratching her skin. Her legs parted impossibly wide offering herself up to him.

 

She cried out to Gods she didn’t believe in when she felt his tongue press up against her, lightly, almost teasingly before he pulled away, and pressed another kiss against her inner thigh.

 

She lifted her hips to him, and his lips brushed hers, his tongue darting out to taste her, she whimpered, both hands now in his hair. Warm, and wet, her heart pounded, her toes curled, she needed this, she needed him. She would not beg, she would-

 

“Please,” she whimpered and she swore she could feel him smile against her flesh before his tongue slid against her.

 

She moaned wantonly, her back arching off the bed. Gods his tongue was almost as good as his cock.  Heat shot up her as he licked her core, lips sealing around the bundle of oversensitive flesh, she felt his fingers push against her, her body gave way and he slipped inside her and she shuddered as they curled inside her.

 

“Jon,” she cried out as he began to move them, fucking her with his fingers as he teased her clit with his mouth. Her thighs squeezed down, her nails digging into his scalp, her eyes fluttered shut as that familiar warmth shot up her spine. Gods she never wanted this to end.

 

“Jon,” she begged before she snapped, her world coming undone. She jerked up, gasping, her legs trembling. Her hips lifted driving his fingers deeper into her cunt, sending her spiraling even further. She bit her lip, struggling to maintain some sort of control as her body shook once then twice and then again. Small tremors cascaded through every muscle. She whined out an undignified sound as she came, her body overheating, sparking with pleasure before she fell back boneless on the bed.    

 

She lay there panting, struggling to breathe, unable to think, she felt him move, his lips making a trail back up her sweat gleamed body, he kissed her thigh, her stomach, her breast, her neck, until finally her lips.

 

Her hand came to rest lazily against the back of his neck as he kissed her, tongues intertwined, she moaned softly, content with the weight of him over her. She could stay like this forever, with him, curled up against his body, there was only one thing missing.

 

She lifted her hips, her hand snaking between their bodies to find his cock, she grasped him, enjoying the gasp of breath he blew into her mouth as she pressed him against her.

 

Gone was the anger from the last time he had been in this position, gone was the rush the fury, instead, he eased into her slowly, gently. His touch tender.

 

A soft whimper escaped her lips as her body spread for him, and he began to move torturously, teasingly slow.

 

He was watching her again, searching for something, and she found herself unable to break his gaze. She gasped, warm breath escaping her open mouth as he thrust inside her, she pulled him closer until nearly every inch of their bodies touched.

 

She shuddered as he kept his lazy pace, her breathing quickened, a part of her wanted him to move faster, harder, to fuck her, to punish her for chaining him to a bed, another more demanding part wanted him to never stop doing this. But still her heart raced until she thought it might explode. 

 

There was no rush, he moved slowly and deliberately, and she felt every movement, every inch of him as her body welcomed his cock, squeezing him, convulsing around him, each movement bringing her closer and closer. An impending crash she could not fight.

 

She watched as she struggled to keep his composure, as he fought of the urge to fuck her harder. Her head pressed against his, noses touching, she wanted to watch him come undone, she needed to see him as he came inside her. 

 

She gasped, and she couldn't stop her eyes from fluttering shut as the first wave crashed against her. It was too much, too strong. Every inch of her tensed, tightening up around him, squeezing him impossibly tight. 

 

“Look at me,” she heard his rough voice, that Northern accent whispered only for her to hear. 

 

Her body spasmed, shaking, her hips jerking uncontrollably up and into him, driving his cock deep in her soaking cunt. She heard herself whimper and barely recognized the desperate sound as her own voice. 

 

“Fuck!” She cried out as he seated fully inside of her, filling and stretching her completely.

 

“Dany,” he moaned and she felt him throb, his cock swelling inside her. She finally opened her eyes, watching him. Too much, too much, she grabbed his head and kissed him, forcing him to swallow another loud sob of pleasure as her body trembled. 

 

She threw herself into him, holding on to every inch of him as she rode out her release.  His pace barely wavered as he continued fucking her, making love to her, she didn’t know what to call it, she didn’t care.  

 

She wanted to scream, to beg him, to thank him. But she couldn't form the words instead a breathless moan came from her mouth muffled into his flesh.

 

“Dany,” he moaned back at her and he felt him swell inside her. His pace slowed his body relaxing, pressing her heavily into the mattress. It was an odd unfamiliar comfort, warm, safe, she felt at ease.

 

They lay there for a span, unmoving, without words, for a minute, an hour, Dany could not tell. Jon’s head buried into the crook of her neck, her hand trailing up and down the sculpted muscles of his back.

 

He placed a gentle kiss to her collar and she felt her heart skip. Surprised, she blinked back unwanted tears, her heart racing. What was she doing? What did she expect to come from this?

 

“Don’t” she said as he started to move, her arms wrapping around him. She did not know what she was doing but she knew she wanted him close. “Stay,” she whispered softly and he did.

 


End file.
